By the Nine!
by cornwallace
Summary: A holy quest worthy of the Nine themselves, yet you find that it is on you which said responsibilities lie. How will you fare, O mighty hero of Cyrodiil? There is only one way to find out...


You open your eyes and before you know it, you're in Anvil.  
Talking to some idiotic Nord in the Bloated Float. His long blonde hair, shining with grease. His big dumb lips stretching across his face. He stinks heavily of body odor. His breath heavy with the stench of meade.

"I'm sorry, sir. I don't know anything about no three fingered Khajiit."

"Oh yeah? Hey, that's okay. No problem. Say, those are some nice boots, you have there."

"Oh yeah? Thanks."

"Yeah. I'm the hero of Kvatch. Did you know that?"

"Say, that's really something!"

"Yeah. I've _killed_ people for lying to me."

"Don't talk such rot!"

"Sorry, sorry. Say, you want to hear a joke?"

"Sure."

"Why doesn't Morrowind have a welfare system?"

"I don't know. Why not?"

"To keep all of the Redguards out!"

"Heheheheh! That's pretty good."

"I came up with that myself."

"You don't say?"

"Yeah. Oh my, where did you get that Sword?"

"I looted it off a dead vampire when I was fighting in the caverns of Morrowind. You like that?"

"Yeah. It's nice!"

"Thanks."

"It's not like he would have ever seen the light of day anyway, right?"

"Heheh! I like that."

"Now tell me where the Khajiit is before I cut your fucking head off."

"I don't appreciate you speaking to me like that!"

You hand the Nord thirty-two gold pieces.  
Your speechcraft increases.

"So, what do you know about the three fingered Khajiit?"

"Nothing."

It's caused you thirty-two gold pieces to figure out he's useless. Turn away, and walk over to an Argonian who is inexplicably standing on the edge of the bar. He seems out of place, but at the same time, this doesn't seem to matter.

"Greetings. My name is Sharp-Tooth."

"Know any rumors?"

"They say The Gray Fox is still on the loose. I do hope they catch him."

"Have you heard anything about the three fingered Khajiit?"

"I don't trust you enough to talk about those things."

"Okay, that's fine. Say, you want to hear a joke?"

"Sure."

"Why are Khajiit's so stupid?"

"I don't know that one."

"Inbreeding makes for retarded babies!"

"Hahahahah!"

It's easy to tell which classes are racist against others.  
Argonians hate Khajiits. Imperialists hate everything that isn't Imperialist. Almost everything hates them, too. Everyone generally hates Orcs, Redguards and especially the Dunmers. Redguards generally aren't racist. Neither are you Bretons. But you already knew that. Elves just exist. They go unnoticed.

You can already tell by the look on his face that his disposition is maxed. He already likes you about as much as he ever will.

"So, what do you know about this three-fingered Khajiit?"

"I don't trust you enough to talk about those things."

Bitch.  
You reach into your coin pouch, and you remove from it fifty gold pieces.  
Hand them over with relent.

"What do you know about the three fingered Khajiit?"

"I think I heard Grogorn the Great saying something about that once."

For fifty gold pieces, he tells you to go find the guy who hired you to find the three fingered Khajiit.  
Enraged, you exit from conversation mode and draw your sword. Strike him, blood spilling from his face onto the brown wooden floor, then touch him with minor absorb health. Strike again, this time across his chest, metal scraping against scale, like a knife dragging across a cheese grater. Strafe left and do a spin for some unexplained reason, really throwing your sword in the side of his neck.  
His body goes limp as you pry the sword out of the poor bastards neck. Before you can turn around on your own, you're staring into the pissed off eyes of on Imperialist guard. How the fuck did he get here so fast? You'll never know.

"Stop right there, criminal scum! Nobody breaks the law on my watch! I'm confiscating your stolen goods. Now, pay the fine, or it's off to jail!"

You decide to resist arrest.  
The tip of the blade on your sword clinks against the guards armor helmet as he draws his sword and steps back. You cast two fireballs. Your aim is off, and you only one of them hits him. Dash forward, striking your sword against his shield. This staggers you, and he takes advantage of your condition. The blade hits you, but you don't bleed for some reason. It just really hurts.

"You should have PAID THE FINE!"

He goes to strike you again, and you sidestep the sword by less than an inch. You summon a troll and try to heal yourself, but your all out of magicka. You stop the world for a second to look in your bag, to find that you have no potions. You should have already known this, because you're too fucking cheap to buy potions, but you didn't. Looking for false hope, maybe?

You press B and things resume. The guard is distracted by the troll, but winning. Take this opportunity to charge over and strike madly. You gain just enough magicka for a fireball, and blindly fire it off while striking madly, sword bashing against the steel armor. He kills the troll and turns around just in time for you to charge and release an attack, sending his limp body flying, his sword falling out of hand and landing on the ground next to him. Turn around and go through the door.

_________

*********

--------------

LOADING

---------------

**********

__________

Daylight.  
You step down off the Bloated Float and onto the dock.

Look around when your suddenly caught off guard by a sword to the head.

"PAY THE FINE!"

Stagger to the left and turn around to see three of those fuckers standing there. You stop the world and check vainly for food, knowing it isn't going to be there. Knowing your probably going to die.  
Take this opportunity to set your active spell to heal. The Night Mother's Caress. Not enough magicka, but if you can hold them off just long enough.

The world resumes and you're ready for it. Jump forwards and strike, dodge roll to the left, and block. Turn to see the three guards advancing with weapons drawn.

"This is the part where you fall down and bleed to death!"

The sword of the closest one swings at you once, and your block increases by one point. He swings at you a second time, and cuts right through your defense. Your limp body hits the ground and the guards sheath their swords and calmly walk away, engaging in 'realistic' conversation.

You have died.

**********

LOAD  
QUIT


End file.
